Atonement
by WDCounty
Summary: A sequel to Ray Bradbury's "All Summer in a Day." I grew up loving Bradbury's stories, and wanted to pay homage by writing this.


**Atonement**

by W. D. County

Brad McNeil stared at the cup of coffee in his wrinkled hand. Twenty-five credits. Some eateries gave centennial citizens free coffee, but this hospital cafeteria was too stingy for that. He was lucky to get half off.

The windows on the west wall of the cafeteria provided a view of a marsh, the ubiquitous terrain of Nimbus, a planet with constant rain and eternal clouds. The sight depressed him and he turned east where a partial wall showed the top half of people walking the main corridor.

He waved the cup under his nose, trying to recapture the memory of what real coffee should smell like. The unmanned supply ships stopped nearly forty years ago; Earth had enough of its own problems without supporting a small colony with no trade value. But surely scientists could come up with something better than colored hot water with caffeine supplements.

The Decker family walked by. He gulped the last of the brown liquid, feeling the burn from mouth to stomach. He had to act now if he was going to do it at all.

His joints popped but didn't hurt as he walked to Vicky's room. The Deckers would go to some posh restaurant and discuss how to divide up the estate. He'd followed them enough times to be sure of their routine. He'd need to be gone within the hour. No second chances. They'd pull the plug tonight, wanting the unpleasantness finished before tomorrow's holiday.

Vicky's wrinkled face seemed peaceful but surreal, surrounded in a field of white linen. A clear plastic snake stretched from her nose to a small ventilating machine. Other plastic lines remained hidden under the sheet, channeling painkillers and intravenous food. The pillow-sized mound under the covers gave testimony to how severely cancer had ravaged the old woman's body.

He stepped back into the hallway to grab a wheelchair he'd spied earlier. His hands shook. Was he really doing this? He'd need to take the ventilator. To hell with the other lines and machines. There wasn't enough time left for them to matter.

He propped her up in the chair and wheeled her down the hall. Just an old man taking his wife for a ride around the hospital. No one would notice anything amiss until the family returned. Then they'd call security, and after that, the police.

He turned into the lobby and made his way to the hospital exit. This was the tricky part. Both the greeter and the security guard eyed him as he pushed Vicky to the shimmering wall.

"Hey, old-timer. Where ya going?" said the guard.

Brad feigned looking guilty, which wasn't at all difficult. "I need a smoke. Gonna take my wife outside with me while I do."

"Dirty habit, smoking. It'll kill you."

"I'm a hundred and seven years old. Hasn't done me in yet."

"And I've never seen the sun, but I know it's there."

"No law against smoking outside, officer. Not yet, anyway."

The guard shrugged, and Brad walked through the curtain of charged particles that kept out the wind and moisture. His skin tickled and the hairs on his body stiffened for a moment. The rain sounded louder out here, beating staccato notes on the roof of the walkway and parking lot. He glanced back through the curtain. The guard had already lost interest and the greeter was busy helping someone with directions. Brad smiled grimly and walked rapidly towards his car. He had done it, really done it. They were outside.

He thought briefly of taking her to his apartment or to his cabin in the hills. Neither would do. He'd stick to the plan, using that cheap motel in town. It didn't even have covered parking but that would be ideal later.

He eased Vicky into the car and activated the seat restraints to hold her in place. He collapsed the wheelchair and tossed it in the back. He thumbed the input pad and said, "Lakeview Motel, corner of Market and Grenadier."

The car pulled out from the covered parking lot, wipers and lights coming on automatically. Minutes later it stopped at the motel, steering itself into the closest available parking spot. He flipped open his comscreen, found the motel's virtual front desk, and checked in using a credit card borrowed from his friend, George. They'd gone through the ancient twelve-step recovery program together, and grown closer than brothers. George gave him the card without pressing for an explanation Brad was reluctant to give. He didn't want George hurt.

Brad wished he'd done this before Vicky had lapsed into a coma, but shame and the insidious belief that there would always be time to make amends let him procrastinate for decades. Only old age with its specter of death—both his and Vicky's—had finally given him the courage to act.

He touched his thumb to the screen so the motel could adjust the room lock to his print. He stepped out of the car, the door almost snapping off as the wind caught it. He grabbed the chair, expanded it, and hurried to her side of the car. He strapped Vicky in mostly by feel. The rain blinded him.

They reached the room thoroughly soaked. He laid her on the bed and tried unsuccessfully to remove her wet hospital gown while keeping his eyes closed. He managed to remove it by staring only at the straps. He tucked her under the blanket, plugged in the respirator, and checked her pulse. Weak but steady. She'd stay unconscious until the meds were out of her system. Eighteen hours. He'd researched her medications carefully and was confident of his estimate.

Brad removed his wet shirt and pants, tossed them with the gown into the room's tiny dryer. He sat on the threadbare chair, thought of watching a holo-vid. He longed for a beer. Twenty years sober and it still called. He began reminiscing to distract himself. It would be one hundred years tomorrow. A century, but the memory haunted him in high definition detail.

It hadn't bothered him at the time. His seven-year-old self had blissfully committed the sin with nary a second thought. Only as an adult had the act begun replaying in his mind, over and over, driving him to drugs and booze as temporary havens from guilt.

If only Vicky hadn't been so damn smug, so taunting with her prediction. Her father's prediction, actually. James Raybury was a meteorologist, the only one included on the colony ship from Earth. _Once every hundred years the rains will stop and the clouds will clear. The sun will shine in a blue sky for one hour, then the hole will close up, and the rains will resume for another hundred years. The next opening will be tomorrow, at ten-seventeen AM._ That's what Raybury had said. Most people thought he was crazy. His daughter thought he was God.

The settlers had been there for eight years. Eight years of unrelenting rain. Years of hunger as they learned which crops would grow under sun lamps and tolerate the muddy soil. Many people died. Those who survived turned hard and skeptical. But the leaders believed Raybury, enough to publicize the event and declare Sun Day a national holiday.

Only the very oldest of the settlers had ever seen a real sun in a real sky. Even with near-light speed, the trip from Earth was very long. Photos and holo-vids of the sun on Earth seemed fake, a special effect to gawk at. "Your father's a joke, Vicky," Brad had taunted. "The sun isn't real."

Until the teacher announced they were going outside to see the sun; _then_ it became real, especially for Vicky. She kept spouting off about how her father predicted the event, as though by predicting it he'd somehow caused it.

As the teacher led the way outside, Vicky giggled and pranced with excitement. Brad's resentment soared. With everyone focused on going outside, no one saw him grab Vicky and shove her into the janitor's closet, wedging the door shut with a chair.

He hurried outside in time to see the rain stop and the brightest light he'd ever seen appear in the sky that wasn't gray anymore. He stood in shock for several seconds. Then everyone began shouting and dancing and running and singing. The native flora burst suddenly into millions of flowers in thousands of hues. The flowers turned into tiny kites that took flight into the clear air. An entire summer compressed into sixty minutes. They played and played until exhausted. Until the clouds rushed in again and the rains returned. Until they ran back inside, clothes already damp from the impatient rain. Until they heard the sobs of a young girl locked in the janitor's closet. The girl who would never see the sun.

The motel dryer beeped, rescuing Brad from the gloomy reverie. Vicky lay quiescent on the motel bed, the respirator gasping as it breathed for her.

He couldn't change the past. At best he could try atoning for his sins. This was the last remaining on his long list. If he could make it up to her, he could die without remorse. Tomorrow was Sun Day.

He put the gown back on her, trying hard not to look at her. It didn't seem right, Vicky sleeping naked, even under the covers. He kept fumbling, embarrassment and exhaustion making the simple task difficult. Finally she was dressed and under the covers. He lay atop the covers, closed his eyes, and fell asleep dreaming of a white light in a blue sky.

He awoke to her moans., glanced at his watch, and cursed. He'd forgotten to set an alarm and almost overslept. He dressed quickly then moved Vicky into the wheelchair. She opened her eyes, closed them again with a groan. The eternal pitter-patter of the rain had already lessened noticeably. "I'm sorry about the pain, Vicky. It'll be over soon."

He wheeled her to the parking lot. Several other guests emerged from their rooms as well. He lifted Vicky in his arms, angling her face towards the bright spot in a clearing sky. Even with his ancient arms, she weighed nothing.

"Vicky, Vicky. Wake up! It's Sun Day."

A beam of yellow light touched her face. Her eyes fluttered open, grew wide with wonder. "The sun," she said. "Just like Daddy said."

"Yes, Vicky. The sun. Oh God, I'm so sorry."

"Stop it, Brad. You're raining on me."

Brad sniffled and blinked the tears away. "Sorry." He looked at her. "I'm surprised you recognize me. It's been a hundred years."

"I hated you for a long time. Then I got married, and forgot you for an even longer time. Then I went to the hospital and dreamt of you."

"I snuck into your room a few times." It was hard to look her in the eyes. "God, I was a snot of a kid. I kept the sun from you. I made you cry."

She touched his face. Her arm was stick thin, the fingers nothing more than tiny bones covered in yellow parchment. She was beautiful.

"I forgive you." She smiled. The sun sparkled in her eyes.

"I'll be right back." Brad set her gently on the wheelchair, and scurried to the edge of the parking lot where a clump of weeds had exploded into a rainbow of flowers. He picked several and ran back to Vicky.

She clutched the bouquet in her hand, staring with fascination as the colors changed hues. The petals quivered and began to pull away in pairs, becoming butterflies on the breeze. Their eyes followed the wings upward, and they gasped. Billions of shimmering butterfly petals crisscrossed the sky like rainbow rivers flowing beneath the blazing sun. Neither spoke; words didn't exist for this.

Tears filled his eyes.

"Time to let go," Vicky whispered. The last petals of her bouquet transformed and fluttered away. They watched the wings join the soaring multitude. Her hand relaxed, dropping the empty stems to the ground. Her eyes closed. He watched her face until the clouds gathered and the rain returned. She did not open them again.


End file.
